


Sort You Out

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Embarrassment, M/M, Name-Calling, Punishment, School Uniforms, Shy Sherlock, Slut Sherlock, Spanking, Student Sherlock, Teacher John Watson, Teacher-Student Relationship, Verbal Humiliation, Younger Sherlock, minor medical kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock ruins his school uniform, the one that Mr. Watson gives him to wear isn't exactly what he had in mind.  His punishment doesn't turn out quite the way he expected either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sort You Out

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into русский available: Вознаграждение

“S-sir,” Sherlock stuttered, blushing furiously, his hands flat on his teacher’s desk.

“Yes, Holmes?” John asked from where he stood behind him.

“Ah-are you sure this was the only spare uniform the office had?”

“Quite sure.”

“Oh.  Okay, Sir,” Sherlock swallowed, trying not to shift where he stood bent over the desk, feeling much too exposed in the blouse, skirt, and knee socks.  The skirt would have been prim, nearly fussy on someone a foot or two shorter than Sherlock, but as it was, it barely covered him.

“All students must wear a complete uniform in one of the accepted styles, Sherlock, you know that.”

“Yes, of course, Sir.”

“So, when you go into the chemistry lab, without permission I might add, and run an experiment that ends up ruining your uniform, you get to wear whatever the office has for you  _ and _ accept whatever punishment I give you.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” Sherlock said, fighting the hot surge of arousal that pulsed through his veins at the thought of Mr. Watson’s  _ punishment. _

“I think we’ll start with ten,” John said, reaching for the ruler that sat next to Sherlock’s hand, making sure he saw him pick it up.  “Count them, Holmes,” John said as he watched a hard shudder run down Sherlock’s spine.  He flipped Sherlock’s uniform skirt up, then without further warning brought the ruler down in a in a quick, hard swat to his arse.

“Wo-one!” Sherlock gasped out, the familiar bite of the ruler still managing to take his breath away just a little bit.  It also made his cock swell in his pants.

By the time he got to ten, Sherlock’s palms were sweating, his cock hard, and his arse was smarting something awful.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Holmes?” 

“I’m sorry, Sir.  I shouldn’t have used the lab without permission or done experiments unsupervised.  It won’t happen again.”  

“Very good, Holmes.  It had better not.  Now, pull those pants down so I can check you out, make sure I don’t need to take you to my clinic.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sherlock answered, reaching back with shaking hands to pull his pants down to his thighs.

“Hmm, doesn’t look too bad,” John said, reaching out to smooth a hand over Sherlock’s bare, bruised arse.  “How does that feel?”

“It’s okay, Sir,” Sherlock said, his voice high and breathy.

“And this?” John asked, spreading Sherlock’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“F-fine, Sir,” Sherlock stammered, his breathing getting quick.

“And how about this?” John ran a finger lightly over Sherlock’s pink, puckered hole.

Sherlock gave a quivering moan, resisting the urge to push himself back against Mr. Watson’s hands.  “Good, Sir.”

“I think you’ve got a bit of a problem, Holmes,” John said, bunching Sherlock’s skirt up around his hips, revealing his erection.  “I could … relieve it for you, if you like.  Can’t send you home like that.”

“Please, Sir,” Sherlock whispered, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

John slid open the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a tube of lubricant and a single latex glove.  He snapped the glove on, watching Sherlock flinch as he did.  He squeezed some lube onto a finger, spreading Sherlock’s cheeks with his ungloved hand.  “Just relax, Holmes, this will sort you out,” John smiled wickedly as he sunk a single finger into Sherlock in one firm push.

Sherlock whined at the intrusion, trying not to tense up around Mr. Watson’s finger.  It felt good and more than a little wrong as Mr. Watson started to slowly move his finger in and out, loosening him up enough to start to press a second finger into him.

“Now, you might start to feel a bit of pressure building,” John said, his two gloved fingers deep inside of Sherlock, seeking out his prostate.

“Yuh-yes, Sir,” Sherlock whimpered, dropping his forehead down to the desk.  He was feeling completely overwhelmed, his cock starting to leak precome.

John hooked his fingers, brushing over Sherlock’s prostate with practiced ease, making him keen and squirm on the desk.  He sucked in a breath, trying to hold himself back, but it was so difficult.  Sherlock was so attractive, slim and wanton and exactly the kind of trouble that John wanted to get himself into.  His attraction was only magnified by the vision that was Sherlock with that little plaid skirt hitched up around his waist.  

“It’s not healthy to hold it in, Holmes,” John chastised, deliberately not giving Sherlock enough stimulation.

“I’m … I’m not, Sir,” Sherlock whimpered.  It would be improper to ask for more, Sherlock thought, to question what Mr. Watson was doing, to say that it wasn’t enough.

“This should have worked by now,” John tsked, working a third finger into Sherlock, “That is, unless you’ve been whoring around again, huh?  Is that it, Holmes?  Have you been letting the other boys use you?”

“Nn-n…” Sherlock started to protest, unable to stop himself from rocking back against Mr. Watson’s fingers.

“It’s the only reason you would need more than this, Holmes,” John said coolly, flexing his fingers inside of Sherlock’s slick hole.  “I bet you just like the attention, hmm?  Like having all of their eyes on you?”

“That’s not...” Sherlock moaned, writhing with embarrassment and arousal.

“Well, clearly my fingers are never going to be enough to resolve your little problem, Holmes,” John sighed, slipping his fingers free, pulling off and binning the glove.

Sherlock whined at the loss of Mr. Watson’s fingers, feeling empty.

“Don’t worry, Holmes, I’ll take care of  it,” John said, unzipping his trousers and pulling out his stiff cock, lubing himself up.  

Sherlock was breathing hard, trembling as he listened to what was happening.  Was Mr. Watson really going to fuck him?  He got his answer as he felt the thick, blunt head of Mr. Watson’s cock push against his slick, greedy hole.

“A slut like you can take this, right Holmes?” John growled out, gripping Sherlock’s bunched skirt with one hand, his other holding his cock steady at Sherlock’s twitching entrance.

“Yes, Sir,” Sherlock said, his voice quivering.  He wanted it, wanted Mr. Watson to fuck him and call him filthy things and make him feel incredible.

“Good,” John grunted, thrusting forward, filling Sherlock in one strong push.

Sherlock saw stars, his jaw dropping open as he choked on nothing but air.  He was suddenly so incredibly full of Mr. Watson.  

John took a deep breath, steadying himself, wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s slim hips, slotting his fingers around sharp hipbones.  God he was so perfectly tight.  “Well, Holmes, seems like you’re not completely ruined.  Those boys you’ve been letting fuck you must not be packing much, huh?  Lucky for me, I suppose,” John said, dragging his hips back slowly, feeling Sherlock’s insides drag against him, before he thrust back in.

“Sir,” Sherlock moaned out, his voice sounding wrecked and needy, even to his own ears.

“This’ll sort you out for sure, Holmes,” John said, starting to move his hips faster, fucking Sherlock hard and fast, angling downward to press and drag against his prostate with each thrust.  

“You’re just a perfect little whore, aren’t you Holmes?  You probably beg those boys to take you, but they never satisfy you, do they?” John grunted, starting to breathe harder with the effort of fucking Sherlock’s pliant body into his desk.

“Nah - no, Sir!” Sherlock sobbed, barely able to catch his breath as Mr. Watson fucked him, hitting his prostate with nearly every stroke and making him feel unbelievably good and like he was about to burst.

“That’s why you never ask a boy to do a man’s job, Holmes,” John whispered hoarsely, giving Sherlock a few more powerful thrusts until John knew he couldn’t help but come.

“O-oh, Sir!” Sherlock gasped before his whole body tensed up as his orgasm shattered him entirely.  He felt it rip through his spine, taking his legs out from under him, only the desk and Mr. Watson’s hands keeping him upright.  It was like nothing Sherlock had ever felt before.  It whited out his thoughts, took his breath away, felt so good he wanted to scream but his muscles were all so busy twitching with pleasure that he couldn’t even coordinate his vocal chords into making a single sound.  His throat burned with the effort.

“There you are, Holmes,” John moaned, Sherlock’s hole fluttering around him while Sherlock himself practically melted onto the desk, coming in strong spurts onto the floor.  John let himself indulge, coming deep inside of Sherlock with a throaty groan, and a few more shallow thrusts into his tight heat.

John pulled out, cleaning himself up and tucking himself away as he watched his come drip sluggishly out of Sherlock’s gaping, red-rimmed hole, his arse framed by that perfect little skirt.  He grabbed a few more tissues, dabbing away the worst of the mess before pulling Sherlock’s pants back up for him, flipping the small skirt down.

“You had best get yourself home,” John said, watching Sherlock nod as he struggled to get himself upright.  He looked dazed, completely fucked out as he walked on shaking knees to the door, the skirt barely covering his arse.  “Oh, and Holmes?” John called out, and Sherlock paused in the doorway, “Next time those boys come around, tell them to sod off.  You’re taken.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sherlock said quietly, his cheeks flushing up bright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Mer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321) for the beta read!


End file.
